


Blaetmoen Rising

by MoenMoen



Series: #FFxivWrite2020 [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: FFxivWrite2020, Gen, Tumblr: FFXIVwrite2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoenMoen/pseuds/MoenMoen
Summary: Short character development entries written for the FFxiv 30 Day Writing Challenge 2020 (#FFxivWrite2020)https://ffxiv-write.carrd.co/
Relationships: Original Characters - Relationship
Series: #FFxivWrite2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908157
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: #FFxivWrite2020 Final Fantasy 30 Day Writing Challenge, Emet-Selch's Wholesomely Debauched Bookclub FFXIV-Writes 2020 Collection





	1. Crux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1564, 8 years before the Calamity // Rhotano Sea, south of Vyelbrand // The Pirate “Blaetmoen” (true name unknown) // Age 16

> **CONTENT WARNING** : Blood, violence, character death

An axe swings down upon Blaetmoen and her eyes flash, it’s shaft swiftly gathered between the prongs of her trident. With a deft twist, the axe is caught, and she redirects its momentum to bury the blade in the ship’s deck. Shoulder to shoulder with her Barracuda enemy, she jabs her blade-armored elbow into the man’s throat. Wresting her trident free, she returns to standing, leaving her opponent gurgling on the deck floor amidst a chaotic, close-quarters battle atop the deck of one of the Limsan Armada’s smaller vessels. 

A shot fires on the other side of the deck and she ducks reflexively, as do a handful of others. In a battle so tightly packed, gunfire was rare and momentous - a bold and pointed declaration of a personal vendetta important enough to risk accidentally hitting one of your own. Jerking her gaze toward the source, she sees her Captain, Fraefyr the Red, his back to her, with musket raised opposite a massive Barracuda Sergeant. Blood blooms from the Sergeant’s shoulder, rendering his arm useless. With a clatter barely heard over the fray, he drops his greataxe and stumbles backward, grappling for his own musket. The Fraefyr kicks the Sergeant in his stomach and the great man falls, his hat toppling from his head. 

A sharp breath fills Blaetmoen’s lungs at the sight of this man’s face, and at once the battle slows, each bloodied figure caught in an illusion of altered time as they battled, grimacing, across the scene. A dull ringing fills her ears, drowning out all other sounds, and her mouth goes dry as horror prickles down her neck. Slowly, Fraefyr advances, pressing one boot against the Sergeant’s hand when he finally frees his musket. 

“No,” she breathes, unable to hear her own voice. “Sylb-” Her eyes dart between the two figures, color leeching from her knuckles as the grip on her trident tightens.

Fraefyr begins to raise his gun, the barrel charting a slow-motion course toward this familiar man’s heart. 

“No--” Adrenaline hits her veins, transforming horror into urgency. And, before she can think, she acts.

Shifting her weight to her back foot, she steps forward with the other, trident lifting to align with her shoulders. With her front hand aiming the strike, the back prepares to throw, strength coiling in her shoulder. Her feet are quick as they dance forward, shifting her weight from back to front at the precise moment that she vaults her strength into a well-aimed throw. The trident sails through battling pirates and Barracudas, narrowly missing an unintended mark, before striking Fraefyr in between his shoulder blades. 

Fraefyr goes rigid, then staggers. His musket falls from an abruptly loosened hand, then he topples onto the familiar Sergeant. Struggling against the pain in his wounded shoulder, the Sergeant shoves the fallen Captain off of himself, frees his own musket, and fires a final shot into Fraefyr’s chest.

Breathing hard, the Sergeant searches the deck for his savior and squints when his eyes fall upon Blaetmoen - young, unarmed, and frozen in place with a wide-eyed expression that renders her oddly child-like in the moment. At once, his features soften in an awe-filled expression of one who dares to hope against all odds. 

His voice lost amidst the abrupt return of battle cries and clashing blades, Blaetmoen sees his lips form her true name.

Her eyes trail to the lifeless body beside the familiar sergeant. Fraefyr. Her Captain. She had just killed her Captain.

And she feels sick. 


	2. Sway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1564, 8 years before the Calamity // Rhotano Sea, south of Vyelbrand // The Pirate “Blaetmoen” (true name unknown) // Age 16

> **CONTENT WARNING** : Blood, description of panic

Breath comes heavy and strained, rushing through Blaetmoen’s tightened throat. She swallows then coughs against the bone-dry grit in her mouth, unable to move - to even turn her eyes away from the corpse of her Captain, her trident glinting dully from his back. His coat, normally a brighter red, darkens around each sunken prong with the warm slick of blood. Thick, and quickly growing. 

Cold creeps into her fingertips inching slowly upward like autumnal frost, the feral blaze of summer’s battles chased away. Sweat, equally chilly, creeps through her veins and she opens and closes her hands. Weaponless. Defenseless. A Traitor amidst a still-raging battle, suddenly on her own.

And worse, the man who spoke her true name was still staring from across the way.

With a fresh shock of adrenal panic, she casts her gaze wide and forces her feet in motion - just in time to throw herself in a forward roll away from another Barracuda, the swing of his axe narrowly missing her tucked feet. Quick as lightning, she leaps upon the nearest mast and scales it, too rushed to thank the Navigator for blessing her with the advantage of nimbleness against so many strength-focused opponents. Something dense wizzes by her ear and clacks into the mast ilms above her grappling hands, and she shrieks, the sight of the still-vibrating tomahawk urging her to grab the nearest rope and throw herself into the open air. Down, she sways, teeth clenched against a fall she could not control - save for holding on for dear life.


	3. Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1564, 8 years before the Calamity // Rhotano Sea, south of Vyelbrand // The Pirate “Blaetmoen” (true name unknown) // Age 16

> **CONTENT WARNING** : None

Floorboards rush toward Blaetmoen’s sailing, pointed feet, the wind rushing in her ears and knuckles paling from her grip on the rope. For a moment, the battle is a blur, its colors bleeding into the brilliant shades of the sea on all sides, her crew’s ship blinking from sight as she rockets toward the enemy deck below. Lifting her legs at the last moment, she avoids a jolting impact with the ground, instead, tuning in to her sense of balance to feel for the right moment to release. She swings upward, then backward, and abruptly releases 4 fulms above deck landing lightly on bent legs. Sparing not a second of stillness, she leaps into a low side roll that spins herself ‘round, halting crouched with her gaze on the tomahawk throwing sea wolf she had left behind. 

From across the deck, he sneers. 

Baring her teeth in a feral, wolf-like grin, she jabs a middle finger in the air in response. 

Brows heavy, the Barracuda unloads as much spit as he can muster onto the deck beside him, its tobacco-yellowed stream tinged faintly with pink. The battle, tightly wrought as it is, renders another tomahawk throw from that distance a hazard to all who grapple between them, so he moves on, shifting his attention to someone nearer. 

Satisfaction flickers briefly amidst the panic, curling the corners of her grin. And then-

“It’s… It’s you!” Rumbles a voice from behind her. A voice far nearer than she had intended. 

A voice far too familiar.

Blaetmoen’s breath catches in her chest and she whips her head to the side, rust-colored, matted braids swinging ‘round her head and shoulders - looking not toward the voice but away from it. Shame colors her cheeks and prickles at her eyes, and before this familiar man could utter her true name she dashes away.

“RETREAT!” She bellows as she sprints toward the starboard rail toward her crew’s ship. “THE CAP’N IS DEAD!”


	4. Clinch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1564, 8 years before the Calamity // Rhotano Sea, south of Vyelbrand // The Pirate “Blaetmoen” (true name unknown) // Age 16

> **CONTENT WARNING** : Violence, language

“D’ye expect me ter BELIEVE tha’ shite’!?” A rough hand cuffs the back of Blaetmoen’s head, and she stumbles, the ropes ‘round her hands and feet clinched too tightly to offer much in the way of balance. Her breath blows quick past her lips and her heart races. Adrenaline courses through her veins as she stands amidst her crew on the deck of their ship, all eyes on her. Sneering. Spitting. Leering. Growling. A cacophony of grinding teeth and cracking knuckles. Their darkened eyes reflecting her transgression back like a mirror, mercilessly clear. Bitch. Liar. Mutineer. Traitor.

“-I told ye,” she spits back evenly, her voice deceptively calm and measured in its force. Head bowed, she stares up at Captain Fraefyr’s second-hand man from beneath dark lashes. The gleam in her eyes cold as the north seas. “One o’ them ‘Cuda bastards-” she repeats more slowly this time, her inflection shifting to that of one who’s speaking to a dimwitted laggard, “-kicked me knees out from under me after I disarmed ‘im, an’ he took my trident.”

“Ye fuckin’ lyin’ wen-” Barabaen continues, grabbing a handful of her matted hair to jerk her head sharply upward.

Blaetmoen bares her teeth, her neck and shoulders tensing against the sudden movement. And she interrupts him, “-I don’ see wha’s so fuckin’ hard ter believe abou’ that. Surely, ye don’t think that I’m the only sea wolf who knows how ter throw a fuckin’ fishin’ trident. C’mon, Barabaen, ye daft fuck. Yeh’ve a’least half a brain in there, yah? It’ll no’ kill yeh ter use it!”

Her vision explodes in a burst of white and black as she’s punched squarely in the side of the head, and she falls heavily to the ground, wind rushing from her lungs.

“Ohhhh,” Barabaen rumbles quietly from above, the crew around him silent as they watch. As they judge. Surely, some considering Blaetmoen’s logic. Others certainly dreaming of keelhauling this quick-witted arsehole of a lass once and for all. “I’ve had jus’ about enough o’ yer insults an’ backtalk, girl. In fact, I think we all ‘ave, eh?”

Blaetmoen grits her teeth through the wash of color dancing across her vision and squeezes her eyes shut, dazed. Around her, only a few voices raise in agreement.

“AYE! Ye see? We’ve had enough o’ you, lass. Your weapon, your crime. Ye killed your Cap’n’ - OUR Cap’n’, an’ now he’s not here ter protect yeh. Tch,” he spits. “Killin’ the only member o’ this crew who gave half a shite about yeh. The only one who didn’t dream o’ castin’ yeh overboard these last 5 years.” Barabaen kneels, and Blaetmoen recoils against the stench of his breath on her face. His voice murderously quiet, he breathes, “who’s the daft fuck now, lass?”


End file.
